


Color me Yours

by Anonymous



Series: Art Model AU [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Art School, Fanart, M/M, art model au, artist!laurent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 12:06:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Damen blinked into the scene so as to command the view to rearrange into something logical. A pale fraction of skin was visible in between feathers and creases of white fabric that wrapped around its slender body and pooled around it on the dais. Even partially covered by the wings one could see the strands of fair blond hair in the nape of a very human head.Of all the things he would have expected to find when crossing a doorway in a foreign building in a foreign land, this was the farthest from it.-Moments in Laurent and Damen's relationship set in an artistic background.





	Color me Yours

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic in life and it was a thing I was dying to explore because I've never read a story realistically set in the art world™ and I love it so much!  
Each chapter is gonna have its own illustration but honestly I don’t know when I’m gonna write the next so, here's just the one, for now.  
This was made as a self indulgent thing but it's especially dedicated to TheRoyalGoldenMochi because she got me into capri thus ruining my life forever.

Damen flinched at the loudness of his steps. He slowed his paced a little bit but he knew it couldn’t really be helped since this particular corridor in all its majestic arches and tinted windows seemed to be as deserted as the previous one he came through.

Damen didn’t know if this precise quietness in the whole campus was a constant state of the University of Vere or if it was merely a consequence of everyone already being gone to save the seats for the tournament that was about to take place in about an hour. He didn’t mind the silence, to be honest. The building was quite the sight to see, so being on your own and lost was not really an issue as much as a risk of finding yourself overwhelmed in its extravagance and detail with the turn of every corner.

The only problem was he couldn’t remember the way to the locker room and there was no soul around to ask.

He had been walking for the better part of the last hour and the daylight had already dimmed to a bright orange hue all around him.

Damen could vaguely recall Nikandros telling him to go across the _first_ courtyard and past the fountain _(“Wait, an actual fountain?” “Yes, Damen, a fountain with colored fishes. Pay attention”)_ and take the north corridor, so he had walked with no luck through not less than four courtyards with different sets of ostentatious gardens and although there were _definitely_ people there frolicking about in the private sections, that was the kind of scene he’d dared not interrupt. Not even in desperate need for indications, as he was.

_Veretians,_ he thought when a barely concealed giggle followed by a moany ‘_ow_’ rose from behind a neatly trimmed flowery bush. For all the fuss on nudity, Veretians were really a case in study on disregard for privacy when dealing with their perversions.

When finally spotting the exuberant fountain (hidden between a thick clump of blue hydrangeas) Damen found himself before two doors that he assumed divided men and women’s room. With a relieved sigh and after readjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder he opened the door in the left.

He suddenly found himself in a very illuminated space with tall windows that reached the ceiling in the entirety of the wall across from the door. The atmosphere was warm and thick with the smell of something chemical in nature, acidic and strong, that Damen could not identify but weirdly reminded him of the lemony cleaning products to scrub bathroom floors. Looking around he saw that there were no chairs or benches but a wide circle of easels each with a wooden stool placed behind.

And then, inevitably, his attention was dragged to the very center of this arrangement. There was a pale and luminous effigy of some sort, human sized and with white feathered wings, sitting on a makeshift dais right in front of him.

_‘Alright, this is…definitely…not the locker room.’_

Damen blinked into the scene so as to command the view to rearrange into something logical. A pale fraction of skin was visible in between feathers and creases of white fabric that wrapped around its slender body and pooled around it on the dais. Even partially covered by the wings one could see the strands of fair blond hair in the nape of a very human head.

Of all the things he would have expected to find when crossing a doorway in a foreign building in a foreign land, this was the farthest from it.

Then the creature turned his head slightly to the side and Damen saw that_ it_ was, actually, a _man._ A beautiful blonde half-naked winged man sitting in a pose that seemed elegant and tiresome at the same time. A halo of sunlight burned through the edges of his head and feathers making it seem as he had a glow coming from within. A true celestial vision right out of an akielon myth. 

_Or one of his weirdest sexual fantasies._

“You’re letting the draft in.” The blonde spoke without lifting his eyes from the phone in his hand and with a hint of annoyance in his voice of someone who has repeated this too many times before.

Damen _was _actually letting the draft in, though. He had been holding the door handle this whole time frozen in the entrance for the whole minutes that it took him to make sense of the scene. Damen rushed to shut the door and the loud sound echoed in the vastness of the room. He soon realized that he should have stepped outside before doing so but he quickly brushed the thought away. It was too late for that.

“Sorry.” said Damen in veretian. He had been in Vere for the whole day and the language came naturally to him at this point. “I-- got lost.”

The other man turned to properly look at him for the first time. He had striking blue eyes that scanned him from head to toe only to stop at his chest. Damen felt like he might have been doing something to his heart because it skipped a beat in the process. He wondered how all of this could be so unusual but so enticing at the same time.

“I’m afraid you are way off route, sweetheart.”

Damen looked down to realize that the focus of his attention was at the insignia on his jersey.

He offered a slight smile “I know; I came to represent my university in the sport summit.”

“Did you now.”

“Yes, I’m looking for the locker room.”

The blonde stared at him for some more seconds before turning back to his phone “Next door.”

“Thank you,” it seemed like the polite thing to say instead of ‘_what the fuck are you supposed to be’_ as he so fervently wished to ask.

Who was Damen after all, to question veretian worshipping practices. Or whatever this was.

“Do you need instructions to leave the room too?”

With a start Damen saw that the blonde was again staring sideways at him with those grave blue eyes edged in displeasure at his presence. “I – thanks. I know my way out.”

“¿Do I have to escort you out then?”

In spite of the provocation, he felt the corner of his mouth rise. “I would very much like that, but I’m afraid your wings might not make it through the door.” He saw the slight shift in the blonde’s gaze and Damen savored the pinch of satisfaction to notice he did not expect an actual response, “they’re quite large.”

The man tilted his head like a cat assessing a confusing behavior in his prey.

“But you_ did_ make it through.”

Damen couldn’t help but laugh at that. The veretian was spikey, he wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t expecting any of this, really.

“Feeling better now that you took that off your chest?” said Damen drunk in the thrill of the rare moment. He knew that his size could be striking outside of Akielos. It was even in Akielos at times.

A smirk appeared in that pale face and he felt a shiver run down his spine, “It’s always a pleasure to welcome our rival brothers from Akielos,” the blonde continued, “especially since you all always seem to be on edge in matters of patriotic honor to my outmost enjoyment.”

Veretians and Akielons weren’t enemies and they hadn’t been for centuries, but there was always a natural rivalry that rose whenever the nations crossed each other paths in any scale. Never going beyond teasing but often shifting into subtle statements of one’s superiority over the other in matters of politics, sports and arts. Anatomy was also a favorite topic, apparently.

This seemed like the usual friendly banter, although it was common knowledge that Veretians seemed to enjoy disguising their true intentions under flourish and sweet voices.

Some poisons are inconspicuous, he reminded himself.

“I’d say you don’t know enough Akielons to back your remarks” said Damen.

After a moment the blonde spoke. “You’d be right.”

He felt, strangely, slightly pleased by this notion. 

“Although you could still prove _me_ right” The blonde continued with a defiance set in his stare “I haven’t even yet pointed out your primitive tradition of stripping naked to fight on the dirt like animals trying to assert dominance.” he then faked a surprised look “Oh, is that what you came to do?”

“Wrestling, yes.” Damen felt his grin widen in wit. “And let’s not pretend that you had the cultural equivalent back then, only it ended in rape.”

The blonde glared at him “Someone has done his homework I see.”

“Someone is a political science major.” And had studied veretian language and culture for three semesters.

“Really? I was just wondering what your major was. That wasn’t my first option though.”

“What was it?”

“Barbarian.”

The barbed words of the veretian did nothing but encourage him to fight back, to keep the mood weird and spicy and see where it would take them. He held his tongue, however, as he now was noticing what he had overlooked in his initial shock. In a quick glimpse he noticed the canvases on the easels. There were splotches of colors starting to become shapes and some strokes giving volume to a close impression of the winged figure. Many shades of white, yellow and red. Blue for the sky behind, peeking in the background.

_And for his eyes. _

_Ah. _Everything was finally falling into place.

He had approached the easels in a seemingly unconscious impulse to study the paintings better, and when he raised his eyes he saw the man had followed his movement with a quiet tension locked in his jaw and frown. Damen felt a rush of regret at his own boldness. He should have asked before getting closer when they were alone in a room and he was still a stranger. He cleared his throat to casually ease back into conversation.

“So, are you a model?”

A pale eyebrow raised in his direction. “Do you think I’d wear wings and an open dress for personal choice?”

“Well,” Damen openly studied the attire, earning a scorn of the guy himself in return, “that is actually a _chiton, _a traditional Akielon attire,” he smiled as he stepped a little closer, “and I wouldn’t dare judge you on choosing to wear it.”

“Is it?” His lips curved in a cold smirk, he seemed to be holding an insult somewhere in there.

“Yes.” Damen shrugged, and then his mouth quirked helplessly. “It suits you.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Spare me the compliments, I’m not able to kick your ass from this position.”

Damen felt his smile widen. “Even if you could move, you probably couldn’t beat me,” and added “I’m really good at wrestling.”

The model huffed a humorless laugh.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

_‘I guess you could know if you wanted to’ _Damen didn’t say. He wasn’t supposed to flirt with Veretians, he knew. He almost could hear Nikandros scolding him. And Kastor. And his father…

A sudden realization caught his eye as he looked around one more time. “Why would there be paintings and model but no artists present?”

“We're on a 20-minute break,” the model said, “but technically there _is_ an artist present now,” he turned his blue gaze back to him. "I also attend this class.”

"Oh? And how do you manage to paint yourself while modelling at the same time?"

He stopped himself from answering right away, visibly hesitating as he likely realized that he was interacting with a stranger on private matters.

"We," he finally pointed at the easels around him "all have to model for this class." A frustrated look. "It’s my turn today.” He let his displeasure show in every word.

A startling sound erupted from the door behind him. Someone was trying to push it open quite unsuccessfully. Damen arched an eyebrow to the other man in the room and he just gave a look that seemed to say _do as you please _and went back to scroll through his phone. ‘_alright_’ thought Damen as he went to open the door and a dark haired man entered the room with two steamy paper cups in his hands and walked past Damen to sit on one of the stools beside the model.

The winged man groaned a protest. “Lazar, could you _please_ not let the door open while I’m in this state of nudity?”

“Vannes is coming behind me,” said the man as he handed him one of the cups and with a mischievous grin and a bow added, “Your highness.”

“Thank you,” said the blonde without acknowledging the mocking title. “Vannes, close the door.”

Damen turn around and saw a woman standing in the doorway staring intensely at him to then stop at the blonde man.

“My my, Laurent has a visitor,” she declared with a hint of provocation in her charming tone.

_Laurent._

Damen couldn’t stop the rush of triumphant satisfaction from showing in his face at this new piece of information, but he could feel the curious gaze of the newcomers piercing him still, so he smiled and said, “I was just passing to admire Veretian aesthetics.”

“I see. Did you find something pleasing to the eye?” she asked, ignoring the poorly concealed scowl in her direction.

“He was just entertaining me while you left me to rot here.” intervened Laurent in a calmed tone.

“Quit being a bitter old man, you’re gonna wrinkle” said Lazar.

“Grandpa Laurent” added the woman sipping from her own cup.

“Do you realize” retorted Laurent “that I have the power to ruin your work just by slightly shifting my leg to the side” he smirked at the pure horror that showed in both their faces. “Yeah, I thought so.”

Damen very deliberately did not entertained the thought of his legs parting underneath the cloth.

“You’re really playing your cast iron bitch card today.” Said Lazar with a cold grin.

“What I’m doing,” Laurent retorted, “is merely trying to protect my remaining dignity.”

“I say you must be hallucinating as to believe you still have some dignity left.”

“I say that’s probably because I’ve inhaled all the turpentine in the air.”

“It is quite heavy to breath in here.” Damen noticed.

“Oh no, that’s just the sexual tension in the room.” Lazar said in a low voice to Damen.

Laurent pretended not to hear.

“Is your friend gonna join us the rest of the session?” asked the woman, eyeing at Damen’s full body while producing a case from her bag where she seemingly kept her brushes.

“He was leaving for the sport summit to celebrate the new alliance between us and the university of Akielos.” He stopped talking just to add. “And he’s not my friend.”

“Really?” asked Vannes with renewed interest. “Tell me, are there Akielon women among your team?”

“A few, yeah. Although it’s mostly men.”

Vannes and Lazar exchanged a look.

“Are you _really_ considering dropping the session to go check on some sweaty muscles.” Asked Laurent.

“Laurent,” Lazar said “It’s Akielon sweaty muscles. _In the nude._”

Damen blinked in amusement at that. “We don’t really compete in the nude anymore, you know.” At least not since a couple centuries ago.

“Anyway” added Vannes, “consider this a better alternative to an anatomy class.”

“We’re doing it in the name of art and beauty.” Said Lazar already heading to the door. “Tell Berenger we’re failing the class for a good cause.”

“I’m not telling him anything on your behalf.”

Damen saw them leave and then they were alone in the room again.

They stared for an awkward instant until Laurent broke the silence, “So?” _Why are you still here_, he didn’t have to articulate.

The truth was, Damen didn’t even know why he hadn’t left yet.

He wasn’t going to tell him that, of course.

“It seems you’re to remain here for a while longer.”

“Well, it seems like you are doing exactly the same thing _still._”

Damen looked at his position on the dais. “You are not allowed to move at all?”

“Nothing escapes you, does it.”

“Do you need anything?” asked Damen. “Before I go, I mean.”

Laurent closed his mouth suddenly taken aback by the offer, like kindness was the last thing he would expect from Damen. He narrowed his eyes as trying to read into his real intentions.

Damen shrugged. “Fine.”

“Wait.”

Damen froze in place having already turned away. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in an attempted smile but he knew better than to aggravate Laurent any more. Judging by all the words exchanged today, he seemed to be on edge by his situation.

He heard Laurent give a long-suffering sigh. “Would you plug my phone?” He held his phone up as to illustrate the request.

Damen was beaming to comply but he held back just enough to look as pleased as he felt but not as much as to rush into his proximity. He reached for the phone and the accidental brush of fingertips with each other brought a sudden spike in his heartbeat.

“Where’s the charger?” he asked.

Laurent pointed at one of the bags hanging on the nearest wall. “Outer pocket on the left side.”

Damen plugged his phone and when he did, the screen lighted up for a short moment. The picture displayed was a painting of a very green landscape with a brown horse looming in the background. The brush strokes where rough and noticeable in certain areas but it held a lot of detail in others. It was eerie and delicate and probably it was Laurent’s work. It felt very intimate to see it, it probably _was_ rude to do so. Damen looked away.

Laurent cleared his throat.

“Thank you.”

Damen raised both eyebrows at him. “What, are you so humbled by me plugging your phone that you decide to yield now?”

Laurent gave a soft chuckle and Damen thought he would never recover from the ecstasy of it.

“I think we are both running out of time to continue our tête-à-tête.” Laurent smile seemed honest now.

Damen conceded with a nod.

“I should really go now. My team can’t hold up without me” And Nikandros most likely must be wishing a slow painful death upon him right now.

“Aren’t you confident.”

“I know it.”

“So you think you’ll do well?” Laurent added with a hint of amusement.

Damen let his determination show in his expression. After all, he knew the extent of his capabilities.

“I intend to win.” Todays was only a friendly match, the real competition came on Thursday, but Damen meant it all the same. He always aimed for victory.

Laurent’s gaze fell on him. “That is,” he said with a defying undertone “if you ever leave.”

Damen smiled “Goodbye, Laurent.” He made the word roll in his tongue with a touch of heavy accent that made the blonde blush slightly, or so he wanted to believe.

He made his way out without looking back, feeling a warm hint of euphoria in his chest that he blamed on the anticipation of the tournament instead of the brief encounter with the amusing scene in the art studio. The darkness outside the bright room suddenly felt too unappealing compared to the scrutiny of the pair of blue eyes left behind.

It almost made him forget once again where he was supposed to be right now.

This was already becoming ridiculous.

-

Laurent stretched his limbs to let the blood reach every corner of his aching body. Curse Lazar for suggesting the costume.

Of course, if he hadn’t wear _anything_ he could have taken a break with the rest of them, and he blatantly refused to pose nude. But such an attire required not only to not cover himself for warmness sake in between sessions (blame the blasted feathers and their proneness to fall away), it also made it impossible to move at all, for if a dressed model broke the pose all the creases and exact placement of the folds could never be replicated again and the image would be compromised for the artists. It was, utterly, a deadly trap.

At least he got to keep his underwear on. _Small victories_, he thought.

The numbness of his legs after spending the last two and half hours sitting in the same position had luckily dimmed away as he discarded the wings and finally made his way to the locker room to get dressed.

It was dark outside and the campus was quiet now that the tournament had finished.

He wondered if the Akielon won. Then he stopped himself from thinking in the Akielon.

Laurent walked to his locker and opened it. He considered taking a shower for a moment, but it was late enough to risk losing the train. He could relax later, at home.

He let the fabric fall around him –_the chiton,_ he thought with a bitter grin –, and shivered in the cold air on his skin. He then proceeded to look for his clothes inside.

A rush of fast paced steps cut through the silence and the sound of someone storming into the locker room set his senses on alert, tension locking into his limbs, ready to act.

Laurent waited for a second, assessing the possibilities, before he peeked from behind the locker row to see who it was.

“Oh” a familiar voice. “Hi, again.”

Of course it was him. Laurent rolled his eyes at his own bad luck.

He noticed Laurent standing in just his underwear and quickly averted his gaze with a sudden blush darkening his cheeks.

“Sorry, I um…” he then pointed forward and disappeared through the adjacent locker row.

“You seem to really be angling for eloquence, I see.”

He heard the man snort softly in reply. Laurent was silently grateful for his tact to not step into Laurent’s space when he was, impossibly, in a more exposed state of dressing that the previous one they'd encountered each other.

Or where _he_ had encountered Laurent, more precisely.

“I came to retrieve something; I’ll be leaving right away.”

Laurent ignored him to continue working himself into his clothes. It felt amazing to have pants on after so many hours of just the nothing. He was focused in getting inside his oversized grey jumper that had been Auguste’s before, when he heard the other man clear his throat as looking for an opening in conversation.

"Yes?"

“Are you heading home?”

“I am.”

“Alone?”

Laurent stopped in his track. He went round the lockers to face the Akielon properly.

“Why?”

The man frowned slightly at this, “It’s late.”

“The train station is nearby.” Laurent shrugged.

The Akielon smiled reassuringly and showed a pair of car keys, “I had left my keys on top of the lockers.” He explained, and then, “I can take you.”

Laurent stared intently at him. He was positive the man, either moved by his noble Akielon code of honor or just his own kindness held no ill intentions beyond the offering. He showed an openness that was hard to ignore once you managed to look past all of that body (and honestly, there was a lot of it). That didn’t meant Laurent had to easily go with it.

“I’m perfectly capable of going on my own.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I didn’t expect to find you again here and now I did, I won’t be able to rest easy knowing that I left you to go on your own at the risk of getting mugged or kidnapped.”

Laurent fought down a chuckle.

“Have you ever listened to yourself talk?_ I don’t know you_, you could be a terrible driver and doom me to a very tragic accidental death or you could be a criminal, for all I know, luring me into your car to get your way with me.”

Something passed over the Akielon’s face then. For all his determination and air of leadership displayed before he now looked truly defeated by the mere thought of him hurting Laurent. Or maybe the thought of Laurent distrusting him.

“I would never touch you without your consent.”

Laurent deliberately brushed away the thought of the possible scenario in which he actually _consented_.

“Yes well, that isn’t happening tonight or ever.” Laurent grabbed his bag to walk out. It was late alright. “It’s not personal, it’s just a matter of common sense. I don’t even know your name.”

The Akielon’s eyes widened a fraction at this notion. Of course he had not realized.

“I’m Damianos,” he then added with a smile, “but my friends call me Damen.”

“_Damianos_” he tilted his head in acknowledgement. Not that it would matter, he still wasn’t going to go with him and this would likely be the last he’d see of Laurent.

He let the moment stretch as he checked on the time in his wrist watch. And when he turned for the door Damen interrupted once again his attempt to escape the overwhelming presence of him.

“What if,” he spoke slowly as to not scare Laurent any further. Not that Laurent was actually scared of him in the first place, “You drive us there.”

Laurent blinked into the picture of Damen purposely handling the keys to him in an act of foolish misplaced trust.

He truly would get himself killed at some point in his life.

“And you can hold on to my wallet and passport the whole time.”

Laurent gazed back into the Akielon's reassuring smile. He didn’t know if the sudden interest he felt was towards the idea of being offered so much control or just the fact that the plain honesty of Damen’s expression had sparked something akin to a raw, infuriating tenderness in him; he knew that if he just told Damen to fuck off he’d leave him alone and yet –

He was actually starting to see the appeal in getting home earlier than expected.

-

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: I still haven't decided how it will go, if I will make this a multiple chapter fic or post each one as a new part of the series? I marked it as single chapter fic for the moment.  
Please tell me what you think! 
> 
> Find me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/liebremaga/) and [Tumblr](https://liebremaga.tumblr.com)


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